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took their places, remaining standing until the King and Queen were ready to eat. Elizabeth and Lady Bryan were seated at the top end of the table nearest the King. For the young child, it was a great and grown-up privilege to be allowed to eat formally with the lords and ladies in her royal father’s presence, and she took care to remember her table manners. She must lay her napkin over her left shoulder—Lady Bryan helped her to do this—and wash her hands in the finger bowl provided. On no account was she to rest her elbows or her fists on the table, and she was to hold her knife in one hand and use the other to carry the food to her mouth. A gentleman sitting opposite kindly cut up her meat with his dagger, since she had none of her own. Wine was served, neat—not watered, as it was at Hatfield—and it went straight to her head, leaving her sleepy and a little giggly. As soon as the meal ended, at a nod from the King, Lady Bryan carried Elizabeth to the apartment that had been made ready for her, and left her to slumber the afternoon away.
     
    There followed three days filled mostly with feasting and merriment. The King continued to make much of Elizabeth, and the gentle Queen Jane went out of her way to show affection to this child whose mother she had supplanted. Then Mary arrived at court, and there was more jollity, and it seemed to Elizabeth that she was now very much part of a warm, united family. If only her mother could be a part of it…
    All too soon, she was on her way home again, with Lady Bryan, for the King and Queen were about to depart on a visit to Kent. Elizabeth was disappointed at having to say good-bye to her father, but very grateful to receive an affectionate farewell. When she was brought to him in the presence chamber, which was packed with the usual throng of courtiers, Henry picked her up, tickled her under the chin, and kissed her lovingly.
    “A charming child, Your Majesty,” observed the French ambassador obsequiously. The King beamed.
    “Yes, it grieves us to part with her,” he said, to Elizabeth’s delight. “She’s a true Tudor, there’s no mistaking that, eh? Bright as a button, and witty too!”
    He set her down.
    “Go, Daughter, and God be with you. You shall come and see us again soon.”
    As she sat in the jolting litter, sad to be leaving the excitement and pleasures of the court for the placid routine of the nursery at Hatfield, and even more desolate at being gone from her father and her dear sister Mary, she thought about her new stepmother. Kind as Jane had been, Elizabeth knew she would not miss her very much. The memory of her mother was still too vivid, and the new Queen could not hope to live up to that.
     
    Several months passed, and there was always a reason why Elizabeth could not go to court, nor her father visit her.
    “His Majesty is away hunting,” said Sir John Shelton.
    “His Majesty is much occupied with plans for the Queen’s coronation.”
    “There is plague abroad. The coronation has been postponed, and no one is allowed to visit the court for fear of the pestilence.”
    Then Sir John had even more alarming news, although Elizabeth did not fully understand what he was talking about.
    “There is a great rebellion in the North. They are calling it the Pilgrimage of Grace. The Catholics are determined to halt the King’s religious reforms.”
    Lady Bryan looked grave, but Elizabeth was more interested in the hobbyhorse that the Queen had sent for her third birthday in September. Up and down the gallery she rode on it, progressing from a walk to a trot to a canter and then a gallop. Careering along in this fashion, she heard very little of the conversation between her elders, and thus never found out that her father had come perilously near to losing his throne. In fact, the rebellion meant nothing to her until she was allowed to participate in the celebrations to mark its suppression in December.
    “And we are to go to Whitehall, and then to